The Promise
by Sia Deven
Summary: A faltering singing sensation, combating his addiction to alcohol finds himself alone. His life is revived by his friend, strengthened by his love for a girl who sings at night bars. Will he find his answers to his loneliness? Will she become a superstar? Will love alone be enough to revive life.
1. Title

THE PROMISE

CHARACTER LISTING:

AVIK JOSHI, a famed star singer combating his addiction to alcohol.

RUHI SHIRKE, an aspiring singer introduced by Avik Joshi and later falls in love with him.

MR. SAIGHAL, a song recording and label producer and owner. Labeled for Avik Joshi later eventually for Ruhi Shirke.

Manish, Avik's friend and manager.


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The stage was set. Thousands of thronging fans had collected themselves at the venue. Time seemed meaningless as they grew expectant with ticking seconds for the concert to begin. The waiting room was dimly lit opposed to lively lighting settings it provided. Rocking back and forth in deep thoughts about nothing in particular, it boggled Avik how much the taste of rum of his favorite brand was soul-moving. Every time he sipped from his bottle he agreed for more-never stopping, never regretting. Always he kept a reserve bottle just in case that he reminded himself every minute or so. Rocking back and forth, he swirled within a vortex of emotions-anger, depression, sadness, ecstatic, enjoyment-none which he could justify a reason as to why he felt so. He spent hours thinking for a reason. As the hour ticked, first call for him came from a voice behind. Avik disliked the intrusion.

"Avik, ready?" he heard his friend, his manager, Manish call him as he approached nearer.

Avik made no reply. He kept taking his sips of favorite rum, with it savoring the fulfillment it promised.

Manish pulled a chair to seat himself. He started again, "Avik, the crowd has gathered. Your fans are eagerly waiting to see you perform. It's time Avik, come now."

It had left Manish bereft to see his friend stagger slowly into a void from where any extent of help wouldn't bring him back. He feared for him. He had tried all the strength in him to pull Avik up from the deep well of nothingness but to not much avail. For over a year he had tried and persuaded his friend to join a rehabilitation center. In the end he had given in to his persuasion a week back.

Manish jerked Avik's shoulders strongly in an attempt to budge him. He grew accustomed to the mute silence of his friend since the dawn of his addiction to alcohol.

"Avik, you listen to me?" he gave him a soft pressure, Manish's voice was as gentle ever.

"yes." Replied Avik.

"it's your concert tonight and as a matter of fact, everyone has assembled, the technicians, musicians, accompanists, security, concert staff, the host for tonight and might I press again, it's time already. You've secluded here inside for over two hours. Come now, Avik."

Handling the manager of the concert who willed to understand the situation was Manish's job, he felt, not tackling mindless buggers who had enough cash but not the compassion to understand a singer's fame.

"I'll be there in a moment, Manish. In a minute. Promise." Avik said in a husky tone.

With that Manish left him to his rum and loneliness. He didn't know which emotion ruled him-sadness for a friend or anger over his attitude towards his success. After moment, Manish returned again, more strong willed to drag him off his chair. Monetary issues were off limits, it was Avik's fame and respect at stake which he didn't want at crossroads. He let his anger rule him. Furious, he stomped into the room and kicked the chair he had occupied before. It startled Avik, making him glance at Manish for a second, the desired effect appearing.

"What do you think of yourself? People have gathered. Everything's ready except the main participant of this evening. Are you deciding over whether you'd like to drink in between your performance or are you finding a grave sadness to depart from this bottle whilst you're away a couple of hours. Which one is it?"

Coolly sipping the same rum, in a measured rhythm, Avik answered his tempered friend, "the latter" and burst into a gurgling laughter.

"does it seem to tickle you that your fans are waiting for over a couple of hours thinking you'd appear at last and be enjoyed to see you perform? Has this one bottle given you the strength to be happy to stay from music than to depart with itself? The manager is howling in an uproar. His money is at stake. How do you think you could earn yourself another bottle?" Manish fumed again.

The second stream of questions jolted him from within. Even the strongest dose of addiction couldn't shake his passion for music. It still was there, deep within his soul, buried under the cloistered walls of his heart. He took another swig from the bottle arranging his bout of answers.

"Those who need nothing do their work responsibly, Manish. And those whose investment is solely money scrounge for slightest remaining responsibility and goodness within them to showcase themselves as perfect, Manish." He gave another knowing smile only to continue his last few sips.

Avik saw the amount of rum remaining and sighed aloud.

"I'll wait outside for a minute. I'm scared for you." Manish couldn't face his friend while confessing the last sentence. He truly was scared for him. He somehow wanted to find the 'just-in-case' extra bottle of rum from his pack while he was away performing and crash it to pieces. Maybe breaking it would lead him to his salvation, he believed.

In a single gulp, Avik finished his last share. He looked at the empty bottle with a longing and sighed aloud again. He flipped the bottle lithely to shatter at its own whims, not looking its way, searched for the mirror. Finding support from the strength in his rest-holding arms, Avik lifted himself up. For a minute he couldn't understand if he was in a trance or not. Since tonight was a concert performance day he had mixed a lot of water in his rum, so the nausea still waited. He walked towards the long mirror and gave a long look to his image. Dressed in simple trousers from his usual concert collections with the usual up-do of black thick wrist bands that had adjusting ties which dangled around his broad wrists, Avik sported a normal black tee-somehow that seemed simple yet dashing. Just a month back he had cut his growing curled hair short and somehow he seemed pleased with the cut except for the sadness he couldn't wear that beige colored hat which suited his style once with his flowing hair. He seemed satisfied with his attire. Contented from having drunk his portion of rum, he walked out, towards the stage.

As he walked ahead paying no attention to the gathered mass, to the throng of reporters, not even to the loud announcement of his arrival by the host and not even to his own friend who was giving some instructions to him. The short walk to the stage seemed somehow long. At the end of the walk, Manish handed him a black sleazy leather jacket, Avik favored the most of his collection.

Ascending the short steps to the stage, it startled Avik to hear the roar from the crowd-girls and boys alike. _My songs haven't become mute after all_ he thought. He greeted the guitarist with a warm hug, while he juggled his hands in a crazy fashion with the drummer as did he with the other on stage. He gave a long wearied look to the mass in front of him. It reeled him to an era where he felt he righteously belonged. The enthusiasm from the crowd reminded him of his first concert after a whopping sale of his first record in the country.

It was a concert like nothing. Their favorite singer's concert and fans always begged 'encore' at the end, in between, all the time. It was usual for rock stars to hold concerts everywhere in the country and size of the place didn't matter. Unfortunately the season around the year was summer and the seasonal humidity created sweat patches over the awaiting fans' faces and bodies. He had seen them sweat like wet-clothes. Slow and irritatingly snaking all over their body. If one had swept across his face then another would mop his forehead by hand or towel but their patience never wavered. This had been a trend for his fans. Heat, monsoon or occasionally winds didn't falter his fans' decision to wait and listen to him sing, perform. It was a gesture he still couldn't get used to. It was humbling. Appreciating. Coaxing. Shameful at times. Such were the gestures of his fans-both sexes alike-that he couldn't decide to bask in its warmth neither shelter remorse, at times, not knowing how to reciprocate.

It had been over a couple of years since then he had tasted that madness. That love which defined his ability. That fever which he yearned to savor every time it struck. That inspiration garnered from their awed eyes when he performed. That shower of humility earned as respect for his strumming. A natural at performing, music was his passion. It was painful to accept his passion for music still lived but his object of existence was administered by a passion for a drink. Reeling back, he picked the starting note of the first song he wanted to sing-the same song that shot him to fame.


End file.
